


Confession

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, OC POV, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A confession from a rat trying to escape the fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

Yeah, I know you’re surprised. Bet I’m not the first one of us to turn himself in lately. In the last two weeks, I reckon. Since their game got going.

Free piece of news: now is a crap time to be a criminal in London.

Not that it ever is a great time, for the thousands of us who’ve had enough, or saw something easier or fairer, or just know a guy. Crime doesn’t pay everybody the same, and that’s always been the case. You know that.

But now it’s worse. A hell of a lot worse. See, these days, you’ve got to pick a side. Not like a gang, but something bigger. You can’t not, and there ain’t a whole lot in it.

Don’t try to pretend you people don’t know something’s going on. You just don’t know how big.

James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes. One’s bad enough, and we’ve got to deal with two of the buggers. Holmes can use you or leave you, and either way you know he doesn’t care what the hell happens to you. But there’s the police, and he’s _different_ these days. Nobody knows where they stand with him, worse than before. Moriarty, on the other hand, makes you very rich or very dead. You pays your money, you takes your choice. And this ‘little game’ of theirs is going to tear London apart. Rats always know when the ship is sinking.

Best part is, you get on their bad sides, if you’re _lucky_ they don’t go after you. No, then you’ve got the guns after you. Says a lot about where this city’s going that you’d rather have a trained killer on the case.

Seb and John. Yeah, I mean Watson. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been around, I know a proper gun when I see one. Most people say they prefer the good man, because he might be open to reason, to _mercy_ , but that’s because most people have never met a good man before. Trust me: when your life’s on the line, you want a bastard who might make an offer, or listen to one, or at least bloody laugh even if a line’s only funny to him. Good men – John Watson being pretty typical, from what I’ve heard about the bodies – just shoot you dead. No reasoning with people like that. At least Seb gives you a fag and a dirty joke. John, on the other hand, stops smiling, and you’ve bloody had it. We all know that. When Seb starts smiling, you’re dead; when John stops, you’re fucked.

Not to mention that whole ‘right hand man’ business. None of us get it. Well, we get somebody having your back, but God knows what else is going on. Sherlock bloody listens to John, and as for Seb, he actually _argues_ with Moriarty. I know you guys are thick, but you’ve got to realise what that _means_ , right? And _he’s still alive_. Main reason why nobody will touch him; either of them. You think Holmes and Moriarty would be bad enough as they are, but Jesus, you don’t want one of them actually caring enough to make you a _priority_. Someone who needs their _personal attention_. Just the thought… Brr. You sure I can’t light one up?

Oh, and here’s something I bet you guys have no idea about: the girls.

When you’re not worried about the men – although Christ knows how you’ve pulled that one off – you’ve got the women to crap your pants over. If you believe they exist, that is. Holmes has got The Woman, terror of pretty much everybody, who’s almost definitely not dead because seriously, you think she couldn’t talk her way out of death? Make those eyes at the Grim Reaper? Something off about her, that’s for sure. Besides, she’s got Sherlock, or Sherlock’s got her, which means she ain’t dying any time soon. The only good thing about The Woman, I say, is that at least she’s the Devil that everybody knows. Moriarty though, word has it, has A Woman, and nobody’s got a fucking clue who _she_ is. Got us all spooked, that one, because how the hell do you get that close to Moriarty without anyone knowing who you are? Mob bosses, the guys who know everybody, can’t put a name to her face – for the short time they see her, that is. It’s like the old days for Moriarty, of course, back before John made him famous – and oh, you can bet he didn’t like that at all.

We all know about the pool. Hard to keep something like that quiet. Actually, I reckon they both spread it around, same way they always do: Moriarty’s little rumour mill, John’s blog, the police – yeah, you think you’re not part of it? – everything. And let me tell you: what almost went down there? Kids’ stuff.

After those guys, they’re just faces. Sides. And sooner or later, we’ll all have to choose one. Me. You. We’re all trying to get out of the way, and you should too. Crime, law, they don’t care. Not really. That’s why I’m telling you all this, before you take me away: you deserve to know as much as we do, because in this, we’re the same: just faces. Pieces.

It’ll kick off soon.

This city is going to _burn._


End file.
